Let Him Eat Cake
by pi-on-a-skateboard
Summary: When it was Nick's turn to fall ill, everyone knew he was in the best hands. But why won't he stop dropping weight? Could it really be due to a simple piece of cake - and then some? And what have spoons got to do with it all anyhow?
1. The Music Makers

To claim that Dalton Academy is Hogwarts is not as far-fetched an idea as you might believe. With its limestone façade, sweeping courtyards and towers stretching to touch the sky, it definitely looks rather like the castle. Throw in the boys cloaked in freshly laundered, crisp uniforms without the merest thought of a wrinkle and, despite the fact that they are all muggles, you definitely end up with a family just like the wizarding community. There's even a couple of snakes hidden somewhere in the building, courtesy of Jeff and Thad's failed science experiment – but the school doesn't know about that, so you'll be sure to keep that under wraps, won't you?

Point being, Dalton Academy – especially their infamous show choir, The Warblers – was one huge family. Each had their own skeletons in their respective closets and, to Nicholas Patrick Duvall, who, due to various circumstances, was acutely aware of these things, many had their own various medical issues. Blaine had his diabetes, Trent had his wrist, even Wes had his asthma. So when it was Nick's turn to fall ill, everyone knew he was in the very best of hands.

Technically speaking, his story should begin a few months previously, over the summer, when a particularly nasty stomach bug hit the Duvall family. They all seemed to recover fairly well, though Nicholas Patrick may have taken slightly longer. This was then followed by several unseasonal colds, a few cases of tonsillitis, a couple more of gastroenteritis, and a partridge in the form of bronchiolitis. He always seemed to be tired, often having to miss school or rehearsal. He lost a little weight, despite his eating habits remaining unchanged, was constantly pale – his friends often remarking he must have turned into a vampire over summer – and, well, just always appeared a little under the weather.

Our story today, however, begins in – you guessed it – a Warbler meeting in early October. Nick was trying to focus on Wes' voice, on his protests… David had probably mentioned kazoos again. He didn't really understand what his obsession with the instruments – if they could even be graced with that title – was, but, hey. He was feeling pretty crappy though – his nose was running and his head was stuffy and just… it wasn't easy to cut through that smog of sleep.

He had Jeff, though. That was good. The Australian boy… Well, Nick didn't believe in love at first sight, but Jeff was something else… The instant he'd locked eyes on the boy, he knew that he wanted to make friends with him. And, going back a year ago, Nick barely spoke a word to his roommate, David – whom he now considered one of his closest friends. Back then he was painfully shy. He'd whisper answers only to questions directed at him, whispering as if the rage of the monster that destroys stupid boys with incorrect responses would be lessened with his softer voice. But he'd met the Australian in choir rehearsal – which he had just joined as a sophomore, while Jeff was a freshman – and something in the blonde's twinkling brown eyes just spoke of calmness and understanding and companionship. It was Jeff that was able to elicit his first unprompted words – "Hi. I'm Nick. Are you new here?"

And so it blossomed from there. Jeff taught Nick how to believe more clearly in himself, to trust himself, to uncork the confidence he bottled up for the stage and drink it in his everyday life. And Nick became a brother to Jeff, someone for the compassionate blonde to turn to when he needed to destress, or needed a distraction from the pangs only living 10,000 miles from your home could bring. Nick would pop corn and Jeff would bribe David to bake lamingtons and they'd sit nerding out over Harry Potter, or arguing the correct terminology for jumpers and sweaters, or running around kicking and punching – excuse me, _handballing_ – the strange, red, oval ball that Jeff liked to call a "footy". Instant friendship.

Nick could still remember clearly the day Jeff came out to him. The boisterous blonde was sitting, waiting for their almost-calendar-like movie screening. But the TV was off. There was a packet of Tim Tams on David's bed – who was absent, which virtually never happened, especially for movie nights – but it remained unopened. Jeff blinked, clenched his grey Dalton-approved pants tightly in his fists, and said, "Nick, mate. Just wanted to let you know I'm gay." Nick had hugged him, told him that absolutely nothing had changed – and pressed play on Dead Silence, the horror film of the week, the whole time rejoicing on the inside.

He hadn't gotten the chance to tell him though – or let himself properly consider Jeff as anything more than a friend – until right at the beginning of summer, before they both went home. Nick had dragged him out to see Avenue Q and, well, to be both blunt and concise, they kissed. It was sweet, it was innocent, and they'd done the impossible and been even more inseparable ever since… Bar the month of 10,000 miles and 11 hours' time difference.

So he did have Jeff, his… his _boyfriend_. The word still seemed a little strange rolling off his mental tongue. He was curled up in the corner of the couch, the taller boy behind him, running a hand gently through his head, like he could draw out the pain and congestion and possibly fever with his fingertips. Occasionally the hand would run down to his back as barking coughs – though he couldn't tell if viral or _post_-viral any longer – burst from his respiratory tract, or would be holding a tissue box or handkerchief ready to be taken when his nose decided it had had enough. It was warm, it was safe, it was relatively comfortable and Nick appreciated it.

It was getting increasingly difficult to focus on the ruckus, however. It _was_ the Warblers – following their logic was never an easy feat – and he _was_ sick, he supposed. Thad seemed to be getting particularly riled over… something… and he could see Wes biting his lip, banging… he couldn't even tell which gavel it was today because he was so tired… but banging one of his gavels, trying to keep control of both the council and his temper… He glanced down at Blaine, who grinned somewhat sheepishly before sliding onto the couch.

"When is Thad gonna learn that teaching a bunch of high school boys every note and dance move to Gay Bar is just a bad idea?"

Nick shrugged, yawning.

"Oh, are you sick again?" Blaine asked, biting back a laugh as Nick just sneezed in response. "We'll be through soon… Just a cold, do you think?"

"Um… Maybe…" Nick curled up more tightly against Jeff, drawing his knees in to his chest as another harsh blade of pain stabbed through his gut, biting his lip to stop himself crying out. He dropped his head down onto his knees, the increased contact area reassuring him that the world was not, in fact, spinning – though it did little to help stop the vertigo.

"You've been crook so often, sweetie," Jeff murmured, kissing his temple and snaking an arm between Nick's chest and legs. It was funny how he just seemed to intuitively know where the hand was needed, which particular area of him needed that magic touch only the Australian seemed to be able to give. Nick must have been shaking though, because the next thing to come out Jeff's mouth was, "Do you feel sick? Are you gonna spew?"

Nick didn't feel sick anymore. He felt _ill_. Screw rehearsal. He wanted to be in bed, actually asleep rather than this half-awake state that seemed to tire him more than a marathon would. He wanted to lie down curled in the foetal position with something warm to ease the muscles and bloating in his gut. He wanted to force a bit more blood to his head, or maybe just stick it in a vice to stop it from spinning. "No. No spewing," he whimpered through gritted teeth. So, this must be what it was like to be a girl… He was pretty sure these were cramps he was experiencing, the muscles suddenly tightening and holding and clenching around his stomach like Superman around his mother's finger as a baby, before finally letting go and giving him a half minute perhaps of respite before the next one would hit, stronger and smarter than the one previous.

Wes – the ever-vigilant resident doctor that he was – had looked over at them at the whimper. Nick was half-aware of his eyes narrowing in concern, of his hushed conversation with Jeff and Blaine, of the tanned hand brushing the back of his forehead to check for a fever… He somehow managed to rouse himself enough when his name was called, and took in something about going to the nurse, though he wasn't really sure what that was about, or why.

Then Wes had a tight grip on both his hands while Jeff and Blaine both had a hand on his back, lifting him up. Bad idea. He wasn't ready to get up yet… But before he could warn them not to move him, the world had gone black and his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as exhaustion and light-headedness finally took control over his consciousness.

* * *

**For once, a fic NOT based on a word prompt :P**

**Hi!**

**So, I've had this idea bouncing around for quite awhile now... It was mentioned AGES ago all the way back in TSAB, and I've been planning on writing this ever since. And, especially now that I can to some extent relate to Nick, I thought I may as well actually get round to it... as well as finishing off all the other WIPs I have. Though this was crying out to me at work the other day, so thought I should...**

**Any guesses as to what's wrong with Nick? Clue: It's mentioned in my massive fic, TSAB, somewhere in the mid-twenties, from memory. And possibly elsewhere. Also, I don't think it's been done yet. Oh, and there should be a clue in the title, but I'm not exactly coherent now.**

**Okay, I'm not planning for this to be overly long. But a few chapters' worth, at least. There's always things to consider... And I'm going to stop trying to be mysterious. It doesn't work this late at night. You guys nknow what I'm like :P**

**Oh, and if you're just joining us for the first time - I ramble a lot. And abuse my notes. But, meh. You don't have to read them. I don't know why anyone would, to be completely honest. Especially considering the sheer number of them that get made after 2 am...**

**I've been up for 21 hours. Someone tell me why I'm still here...**

**Oh. And, it does take me awhile currently between updates. I have... too many WIPs, but I'm not good at directing my muse. I also spend my time either studying full-time or working... and I'm working 73 hours this fortnight, so... yep.**

**Okay, I'm practically asleep.**

**Oh. Also, if you're just joining us, I constantly feel the need to be obnoxious and offer my services as listener/crying post/strange person to chat to. So, if you ever need anything, you're more than welcome to come PM me or hit up my Ask box on Tumblr - pi-on-a-skateboard. tumblr. com**

**And sleep. I do have work tomorrow. Just not til 12. And it's a one-on-one. And I know her sister very well. I think I'll take my nail polish along, and it should be pretty sweet!**

**Like it? Hate it? Want me to be overcome tomorrow by a swarm of moths? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling! :D**


	2. The Dreamers of Dreams

Jeff was… hesitant. His baby was obviously quite ill, to the point now where he was audibly in pain. And Nick was… well, socially awkward might be the best way of putting it. He wasn't like Blaine, who refused being sick or hurt or in need of help because of some ridiculous need to prove himself to others. He wasn't like Wes, who was so unaware and self-destructive and also, in a sense, selfless – he didn't want to put anyone else out or to make them feel uncomfortable when his body decided to remind him he was human. But Nick didn't view it as a sign of weakness. He just accepted whatever had come at him.

Nick was bashful and very introverted. He didn't like drawing attention to himself in social situations. If he were singing or speaking, he was fine. Better than fine, actually. But put him in a new situation with new people and he'd blush and stay quiet. That was just who he was, and one of the many gorgeous qualities that Jeff loved about him. Perhaps growing up with such an ill sister, or so many sisters, taught him to downplay things, or maybe he just didn't have enough attention back home to inspire confidence… But, he didn't like a lot of attention in general. Even less so if he was actually feeling sick, rather than just suffering through the latest cold that he'd managed to catch. He was like a cat – he'd rather just sneak away and not impose on anyone or have anyone watching him when he was in true misery.

Jeff knew Nick was really shy the instant he'd met him. He'd noticed the brunette staring at him for most of rehearsal. He himself felt kinda awkward… his accent had posed a bit of a barrier, especially considering this was Ohio and the guys considered _Wes_' excuse of an accent to be fairly exotic. He had a double room to himself, and his mum was just about to fly back home to Australia. So he was a little out of place, a little unsure of himself, and he thought that maybe that was what the brunette was picking up on. Then, towards the end, he'd come up to him.

* * *

"_Hi. I'm Nick. Are you new here?"_

"_I'm Jeff," he offered, almost matching the timid whisper. "I just moved here from Australia – I'm… a freshman? I'm in year 9, anyhow. What about you?"_

"_I'm a sophomore," Nick smiled, "and you're a freshman. So, I'm a grade above you, in 10__th__… So do you, like, own a pet koala or something?"_

_Jeff chuckled. "Nah, mate. All the cool kids nowadays have wombats."_

* * *

And so their friendship was formed. Nick was the first person that tried to understand Jeff – other than Wes, but, well, that was just Wes. And Jeff was the first person that Nick had felt comfortable enough to talk to unprompted, let alone to initiate a conversation. Both as boarders, they'd helped each other with homework, camped out in blanket forts stealing peanut butter cups from Luke and TV from Callum, taken care of each other when they were homesick or tired or had a virus…

Which brought Jeff back to the present. Because he had seen Nick crook plenty of times before. The Warblers were insane, the homework and study load here was insane, and Nick just happened to be one of those people prone to colds and sore throats and the such. It wasn't all that uncommon in perhaps the second half of semester, for the brunette to walk into a rehearsal or meeting or study group and collapse on the couch, complaining with whatever voice he had left of the plague or smallpox or malaria.

But, this felt different. Something had changed… Even the nastier bugs, he was okay with. But now, Jeff couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong with his boyfriend… But maybe they could just get him to bed and he could sleep it off?

As soon as Wes and he and Blaine started to lift him, though, Jeff knew instantly he should listen more carefully to his gut. Nick had swayed a little standing up – he could feel it in his back, in the way his muscles were starting to loosen a little… Thank God Wes had all his work training though – because the weakening muscles turned into a complete laxity as the junior suddenly pitched forward, Wes instantly lowering his body and centre of gravity to catch him.

Nick had fainted.

Shit.

He took a step back. This was Nick. This wasn't meant to happen to Nick. He was meant to protect him. Nothing bad could happen to him. It wasn't _allowed_ to.

The room was quiet. Quiet. Too quiet. He kept repeating the words over and over in his head, like it could push away that oppressive silence… Trent had an arm on his shoulder, pulling him back a bit so that Blaine could help Wes lie Nick down.

Which remarkably, seemed to help. Not like whenever Blaine collapsed – he'd be out until someone got the honey or sweetened condensed milk or, God forbid, the glucagon. But Wes and Blaine had lowered him to the ground, put someone's discarded blazer under his head and were in the process of raising his legs when Nick's eyes snapped back open.

"What happened? Why am I on the floor?"

He tried to sit up, but Wes pushed him back down as Jeff knelt down beside him. "You fainted, hon. Just lie down a little while longer."

"I… okay…" He blushed a little, which Jeff took as a good sign – at least there was a tiny spattering of colour on his face. He could see past the contrasting pallor a little more easily that way. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Jeff lay down next to him on his side. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. You've got nothing to apologise for."

Jeff placed an arm over Nick's chest, feeling him breathe, in and out, the other hand gently brushing over his cheeks. He would have kissed him, to try and distract him, but that would probably only embarrass him further. Nick wasn't object to a little PDA – they'd always sit together every opportunity they could steal, trying to maintain as much contact as possible. Even as friends, they'd practically sit in each other's laps. But proper kissing was still a barrier – especially when he _knew_ everyone was looking at him. He didn't like drama.

Wes seemed to have a similar thought… "It might be easier if we head straight to your room, Nick. And Blaine can go and get the nurse for us. Is that okay?"

"Yes. I'll go and sleep," Nick tried to reassure them. "I'm okay. I promise. I just… can I go now? I… I don't want to make a scene or anything…"

Of course. He didn't like being looked at or imposing on people – but he didn't want to worry them either. Typical Nick. Even when he'd literally been knocked to the ground, he still couldn't bring himself to focus on the most important thing – getting himself back up. Everyone else came before him.

"A couple more minutes, okay? I'm sorry, Nick."

This wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened either, now Jeff thought over it. He could vividly recall back near the end of last year.

* * *

_They were all sitting around on a weekend arvo, some boys like Wes hunched over on the floor or the couches studying, a few others playing Bartok. That was actually what made Jeff think of Nick – because his best-friend-and-only-best-friend-because-he-couldn't-allow-himself-to-feel-more-at-that-point-in-time had a remarkable mind for all the rules, and actually didn't seem to mind making a bit of a dick of himself playing that. But Nick was nowhere to be found. He wasn't home for the weekend, and it was way past midday, so he definitely wouldn't be in bed._

_The few texts that Jeff had sent over the day had remained unrequited. So, out of sheer curiosity, up Jeff got to go Nick-hunting._

_He wasn't in the music room. He wasn't in the library. He wasn't in their own secret alcove around the corner from the bell-tower, the special place that Nick had shared when… but that was another story._

_His dorm, however, was not empty. Jeff had just poked his head around the corridor initially, which seemed empty… but his gut told him to double check. And as he neared the bathroom neighbouring Nick and David's bedroom, he heard a sound that actually managed to make the easy-going Australian's heart leap into his throat._

_Retching._

_Then a couple of coughs, a small moan, and the flushing of a toilet._

_Whether it was Nick or not didn't even enter his mind at that point in time. Sure, it was gross… really gross… but his roommate and friend Blaine got sick so often that he was almost used to it. Without thinking, he pushed open the door._

_And there he found his best friend. Slumped against the porcelain, his sweat-straightened hair _plastered_ to the ivory mask of his face, his hands clenched around the rim for dear life, one of the emergency cups knocked to the side with water puddling around the base of the toilet, clinging to the outline of the brunette's arse… and a fine arse it was at that… which Jeff immediately realised was an incredibly inappropriate thought for the moment._

"_Shit. Nick. Are you alright?"_

_Nick almost managed a laugh, but it quickly turned to a groan, one hand flying to his stomach. "I feel like I just ate a whole jar of Vegemite."_

"_Did it taste better coming back up? That's what you told me the first time I made you try it."_

_A snort. "No," he whispered before lurching over the toilet bowl again._

_Jeff grimaced, rubbing Nick's back as he heaved and brushing back some of the hair threatening to fall over the side of his mouth. Then, when the attack was over, he jumped back, filling up a new, uncontaminated cup with cold water. _

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_Hey, don't say that," Jeff chastised him gently, holding out some wet toilet paper to clean off his face. "It's not your fault… How long have you been like… this?"_

"_You mean, sick? Or actual vomiting?"_

"_Both."_

"_Um…" Nick sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes. "I've been in the bathroom for… a couple of hours, I guess. Sick for a day now?"_

_The blonde sighed. "Mate…" He was incorrigible. "Why didn't you tell someone? Or go see the nurse?"_

_Nick blushed. "It's not important."_

"_What?" Jeff tried to lower his voice, cringing at the outburst. "Bloody hell, Nick. If you're this crook, it _is_ important. _You're_ important. Don't you _dare_ let yourself feel otherwise."_

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_No, no apologising, either. You're sick."_

"_I'm sorry?" But he had a small smile on his face now._

"_Bitch."_

"_Jerk."_

_They giggled. But when the tiny amount of water Nick had taken in decided to make its suicide mission back up again, Jeff had had enough._

"_That's three times I've seen you chuck in the last half hour, Nick. Wes would probably say you need to be in hospital… We've got to at least get you to the nurse."_

"_No. It's… it's embarrassing," Nick finally admitted, lying down on the floor and putting his head on Jeff's… knee… thankfully… "And there's other people in there. I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable."_

"_Then I'm calling Wes. And back-up. Because I refuse to let you sleep on a toilet floor. We have to get you better, mate."_

"_Mmmf," he mumbled into Jeff's pants._

"_And, you're wrecking my trackies," Jeff smiled, stroking Nick's head in what he hoped was a soothing and non-creepy manner._

"_Well, then. To save your pants, okay."_

"_Good man."_

"_But only if I get to walk. You are NOT carrying me there."_

_Jeff sighed, but conceded. Whatever it took. "Fine." He slid an arm around Nick's back, the other stabilising him in front as they stood up and raced a family of snails down to the nurse's office._

* * *

"Jeff? Hello, Jeff? Where did you disappear to?" Nick's small – but much steadier – voice suddenly broke him out of his reverie.

"Oh, that first time I forced you to the nurse…" Jeff admitted. "I was so worried about you… and you refused to let me take care of you until I complained about you ruining my pants."

Wes and Nick both snorted.

"Alright, Mr Sterling," Nick piped up with a wry grin as he forced himself to sit once more, leaning heavily against the couch. "I'm ready for my close-up."

They'd been watching Sunset Boulevard last night, but Jeff couldn't help but admire the irony in his statement – how such a demanding and controlling sentence only worked to show the fragility and uncertainty underlying it. How the idea of being perfectly strong and in command is a mere façade to hide how terrified and confused and unsettled everything lay underneath… That was yet another thing he loved about Nick. He was constantly thinking, picking and choosing his words carefully. That was why he was such an amazing debater and speaker. It also meant that parodies like that took on an actual meaning with him, rather than just an excuse to practise a bit of melodrama. Nick would look at each word individually, and put words together in different combinations, and view thousands of different interpretations of his language before his mouth came anywhere near forming words. The final product was usually polished and, to those who knew him, full of hidden meaning. Or else, something that would be sure not to offend anyone.

Or maybe Jeff just knew him too well now. He sat up beside Nick, prompting the older boy to rest his head on his shoulder. It was so comfortable, so familiar. That weight, that snuggling right into the little niche beside his neck. Like he could actually provide some tiny amount of comfort as every inch of Nick burrowed in, like a koala, like more energy or emotions or some hippie crap was transferred more easily with the increased surface area. Or maybe Nick just liked to actually _feel_ someone around him, like it reassured him that he didn't have to be completely alone while knowing that no one was going to force themselves in. And Jeff liked that he was trusted to provide that.

And there they rested for a while longer, Jeff like always running his fingers through Nick's hair. Nick liked that, he knew. Not that he'd ever admit it.

They did need to get him into bed though, as Wes was fairly quick to remind them with a subtle nod towards the door. So, with one boy on either side, they managed to help him to his feet and began walking down. They both kept looking over at him, watching his feet keep propelling forward, or his jaw set in pure determination to get back to his room without further mishap… the way that tiny muscle seemed to quiver, his eyes hardened and focused… but still with that twinkle…

He mustn't have been as subtle as he thought though. Nick turned to glance at him. "I'm not going to faint again, babe. It's okay. Stop worrying."

"It's my job to worry about you," Jeff sighed as they turned their first corner. He'd never really thought about how far and close, at the same time, the dorms were from the choir room… "Besides, it's not like you're never worrying about me and looking after me."

"That's true," Nick admitted, before clenching his mouth shut again. It was so small, but he couldn't help but notice how his abdomen had suddenly clenched and he bent forward just a tiny amount, and how his colour was starting to drain away again like dirty water down the shower.

Again, not something that went unnoticed by Wes. It was uncanny, how he just seemed to pick up on absolutely everything. Like a teacher. Or God. "Do you need to sit a minute?" The two pressed closer to Nick, trying to give him that little bit extra support. "There's a lounge in maybe 100 feet, in the joint between the two blocks. There's… a toilet 150 feet away, some practise rooms maybe 100 feet back, or, your bed, in 250 feet."

Jeff shook his head. "Are you a walking GPS or something?"

"No. But you guys get sick or injured so often, and the amount of times I've had to help someone out of rehearsal? You start counting steps left to those sorts of things," Wes smiled. "Nick? What do you think you're up to?"

"Um… Bathroom's tempting right now, but I just want to be in bed," the brunette admitted.

Jeff's hand went down to Nick's stomach, which actually felt swollen and sore. Poor baby. He turned his head to the side, placing a soft kiss on his temple. Gentle, sweet, chaste. It wouldn't embarrass Nick and it wouldn't scare Wes away (well, nothing would – the guy wasn't born with the ability to judge – but that was beside the point). It was enough to remind Nick he was there, that he'd look after him, maybe enough to take the edge off the pain – but not enough to distract him from the gruelling mission of the 248 feet left to their goal.

"Thank you." Nick leant into the kiss, starting to turn his mouth to face Jeff, but decided at last minute to change direction, head snapping back to face straight forward, eyes fixed firmly ahead. "I won't return the favour though. I don't want you to get this. It's horrible."

"It's okay," Jeff whispered in his ear. "I'm probably already infected. I've got the immune system of steel though, remember?"

"You do _not_." Nick's jaw was still clenched – Jeff could feel how tight the muscles around it were through the light fabric of his shirt over his shoulder, where Nick's head was now resting.

"No arguing. Save your energy." He took Nick's hand, which was over his other shoulder, lacing their fingers together and giving it a tight squeeze. There was a fleeting moment of increased pressure in return – like the game they used to play, where they'd take turns to crush the other's hand, trying to invent their own rhythm. Or use a rhythm from a song, and they'd have to guess which one.

There were eight squeezes around his knuckles from the freezing hand. A pause. Another eight squeezes. So Nick was thinking of that game too.

"Train? Save Me, San Francisco?"

"Yeah." Jeff tried not to cringe at how every step now seemed to be stealing away Nick's energy, his breath.

"225 feet left," Wes told them. "Keep going, Nick. Nearly there."

A weak sigh as Nick tried to gain some of that breath back. It wasn't an asthma attack. It was just unadulterated weakness… "Where are we?"

"Dalton… Leaving Brynmawr and approaching Moon House…" Wes said with a frown.

But Jeff gave a smile. "No, Wes. It's a game we play. He's not delirious," he tried to reassure the senior. "It's… a method of distraction…"

* * *

_It all started pretty early on last year. Jeff was drained. Blaine, his roommate – a pretty cool guy, really – had just been sent to hospital in an ambulance. Again. And, yet again, he'd be sleeping in an empty room. It just… really struck home how far away he was from his family, from his mother and father and kid sister and annoying shit of a brother and ever-loyal dog. From the beach and familiar accents. From unlimited supplies of meat pies and tomato sauce and Tim Tams. Hell, he would even be willing to pay for a pet huntsman at that point in time, he was so homesick – and Jeff _hated_ spiders._

_He crawled into bed. His guitar was sitting in its half-open case at the end of the bed, but playing music would inevitably lead to him playing Pete Murray and Missy Higgins and Cold Chisel, which would just be another reminder… which he didn't want or need. So he shrugged off his shoes, blazer and tie, and curled up on his stomach, his (cold) koala wheat bag crushed in his arms, sobbing._

_There was a small knock on the door. He didn't want to answer it. No one needed to see him like this. He didn't _want_ people around._

_But then the handle turned, and Nick popped his head in. "Jeff. We just saw the stretcher pass Brynmawr, and we noticed you two not in rehearsal. Wes said I should ask if you're okay?"_

"_Go away."_

"_I'll take that as a no then." The middle of his bed sank with a sudden increased weight, and there was a hand on his back. How bold that was, or how terrified his friend must have been, Jeff hadn't even realised until now._

"_I don't want to talk."_

"_Then you don't have to," Nick told him. "But, I'm not leaving you alone."_

_And so they sat for a while. Or, technically speaking, Nick sat rubbing his back while Jeff cried into his pillow._

_But then Nick spoke again. "I miss my family too," he explained quietly. "I grew up in a huge house, kind of like Dalton. But I was surrounded by girls – I have 5 sisters. One of my elder sisters… Clara… has cystic fibrosis. I worry about her everyday… Every hour I have here, is an hour that I have with her stolen…"_

_Jeff rolled over at that point to look at him. But instead of the forlorn expression he was expecting, he was met with a handful of tissues for his eyes and the ghost of a smile._

"_There's this thing we play at home or hospital, when she's sick or scared. Do you want to play?"_

"_What do I have to do?" He sniffled, intrigued slightly._

"_Ask me where we are."_

"_But I know where we are. We're at school. In my room." Now he was confused._

_Nick's eyes were alight and his grin earnest. "Ask me where we are," he repeated._

"_Okay… Where are we?"_

_Nick closed his eyes, lying down on his back beside Jeff, his hands clasped over his stomach. Jeff tried not to think about how close and warm he was… "We're in Italy, up near Naples… We're in Pompeii. We're surrounded by all the guys here, because the Warblers won nationals and got invited to perform… It's 90 degrees and the sun's out. We're walking around, looking at all the ruins. Wes is talking about the Second Punic War, and Thad is talking emphatically in Italian to the tour guide, waving his hands around. And we're all laughing at him._

"_And now, it's lunch-time. We sit down, right on an old street, and David pulls out a picnic rug. We've all got bits of food from everything we ate the night before – there's _pasta_ and _pizza _and bits of _agnello_ and _coniglio _and _antipaste_ and _insalate_. And David's pulling out some _biscotti _that he baked for us, and Mr Pedy buys us all some _tiramisu_ and _gelati_."_

_Jeff can't help but smile at Nick's near flawless accent of the translated words._

"_And it's just so hot, that you lie down between me and Callum and close your eyes. And Thad and Wes and Julian sing to us in Italian, and with your eyes closed, you can hear the footsteps of the soldiers and the clapping of horseshoes over the paving…"_

_Jeff snorted. "Wow."_

_Nick nudged him gently, turning his head to look at him. "Now it's your turn. Where are we?"_

* * *

"You remember what I said word-for-word?"

"Of course," Jeff returned the grin. "I think it was at that moment when I started questioning my sexuality."

"50 feet left," Wes interrupted them, wrinkling his nose. "I can't work out whether to feel happy for you guys or sickened by your adorableness…"

"Smile," Jeff told him. "Or else the wind'll change and your face'll freeze and you'll be stuck looking like a pig forever."

"But, Jeff?" Nick called, his voice even quieter than before, yanking Jeff's heart from his chest and throwing it somewhere into the fluorescent lighting of the dorm's hallway. "Please. Where are we?"

* * *

**Hey guys!**

**This chapter has been paining me to no end! I really wanted to get Nick into his room... but Niff are just too adorable, and it stretched on to 4,000 words (OMG) and just... decided he can get to his room next chapter. It's also sort of turned into a "how Niff came to be", which I wasn't quite expecting but am definitely NOT going to complain about. Should be pretty fun and sweet to explore! And I can only hope you enjoy reading it as much as I adore writing it!**

**I've also had ridiculously crazy work. If you've been with me awhile, you know that I'm a disability support worker. So, last fortnight, I worked 73 hours, which is full-time. 76 hours is the limit. I also did 3 sleepovers in a row, which is just ridiculous - in about 75 hours, I spent 45 AT work and another 6-7 in transit. *shakes head* So... busy busy. Means I can't get around to writing as often as I'd like.**

**But I did get to go to one of my favourite houses. I was virtually living there over summer - we're talking 4-5 shifts a week. And I haven't seen them in AGES. One of the clients kept asking me for photos the last few times I was there, so I brought over all the photos from New York and San Francisco and Seattle and we looked at them. Which was pretty cool. They got to see me MELT over my pics with Hunter Parrish and Telly Leung.**

**SPEAKING of Hunter and Telly... You guys know about Godspell? It closed on the 24th, right? A week ago, essentially. Well, because it was so amazing, I decided that they really should get a letter... so I wrote it and sent it 2 weeks ago. And then, a couple of days ago, I got home to find a huge envelope with New York stamps all over it... and inside was a SIGNED PLAYBILL from them all. Which is just amazing... I was not expecting ANYTHING, let alone memorabilia to add to my collection, that was sent instantly with first class mail. Especially overseas. Lovely people.**

**... I am rambly tonight...**

**I also _finally _managed to catch up with some friends the other day. W****e had a picnic at the museum and ate birthday cake in the dark at a playground and got Nando's. And somehow, I think my birthday party was the biggest gathering we've had in a _long_ time. My friends are amazing though... They got me a Coldplay ticket. And I honestly was not expecting anything at all.**

**AND and and and I SAW GAGA. Amazing concert. Did anyone else go? I'll have to give Santana my outfit at some point in time... **

**And I'm catching up with an old friend tomorrow, who I went on a few diabetes camps with. Should be heaps of fun! But, it does mean I have to go to sleep. Because, due to reasons I can't discuss here without a spoiler warning, I'm ridiculously tired and sore. But, I get to take it out on Nick, so it's all good...ish :P**

**How are you guys all doing? I haven't rambled at you in ages... Must be something to do with the massive word-count...**

**I've said it before and I'll say it again - if you guys ever need to talk to someone, I'm always around (despite all my complaining about being busy. It's all a front! It's to hide the fact that I live online!) and, whatever it is, you don't need to go through it alone. Feel free to PM me anytime, or to hit up my Ask box on Tumblr, at pi-on-a-skateboard. tumblr. com.**

**And, I'll put one here, though the quality of the writing should be enough to make clear that I do NOT in any terms own Glee. I'm not RIB. Which is a good thing... there'd be a lot more vulnerable Warblers if there were... All I own is the ability to apply my vivid imagination and warped sense of humour to these amazing characters and hope that someone out there finds it interesting enough to read...**

**Thank you soooooo much to everyone that reads, favourites, subscribes and reviews! Shout-outs to Eraman, Different Child, FullMetal Muffins, AddiTood87, PenMagic, Carbon65 and perfectlyODD! You guys are incredible. And I need you to keep prompting me to actually stay on track and keep writing... I don't know how obvious it is from this ramble... probably not as much as normal... but I get distracted VERY EASILY.**

**Okay. I'm exhausted. And Panic! at the Disco's cover of Blackbird is playing... So I'mma run to sleep now...**

**Like it? Hate it? Want me to have a dream about marshmallows and chewing gum and wake up in the morning with no pillow? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling! :D**


	3. You Can Rent It

If you thought about it, a room really did say so much about a person – more than their talents, their achievements, even their words and mannerisms, ever could.

Take Wes, for example. Wes kept a twin room, with a spare bed available for anyone that needed it. Everything he had was tidied to the point of suspected obsessive-compulsiveness, from the books (alphabetised, stacked in alphabetical-subject order) to the sheet music (orchestra, jazz band and choir, all colour-coded) to his wardrobe, with the door slightly ajar, his clothes ironed and hanging or gently folded – despite the fact that a great proportion remained unworn. There was an old brown bear left sitting on the spare bed (which was always made up and ready to go) – the only memory that Wes would allow himself of his family, of his former life – and, almost ironically, seemed to represent him so well. The worn teddy bear, fraying at the seams hidden away inside, lying in wait for whoever needed a hug, letting itself be used entirely, then getting cleaned before the next person… Not that Wes was cold or emotionless, just that… he didn't know how to protect himself, how to distance himself, always putting everyone and every_thing_ before his own needs. He was warm and sunny, like his favourite lime green sheets, but it was easily masked by the professional silver quilt cover and black pillow cases.

Jeff had spent a lot of time in Wes' room in the past – especially in his first year at Dalton, because there seemed to be some direct correlation between the distance of separation from home and the amount of pain it caused… or maybe having a funny accent and parents 10,000 miles away taught you to rely more heavily on the friends you had surrounding you. There was some… unexplainable warmth in that room, almost like some secret entity was weaving its magic through. In that room, you were allowed to be yourself. You were allowed to be human. You were allowed to scream, to cry, to punch pillows, to make yourself sick, to let yourself be comforted. But, just as importantly, you were allowed to be happy, to be mischievous, to threaten to steal Wes' gavels and pelt him with lolly wrappers and sing horribly out of tune without even a second thought.

Because, that was just Wes. One of the best friends – one of the best people – that Jeff was ever fortunate to have met… and this is, of course, assuming he was human, and not the angel or god that all the boys there seemed to view him as.

Then there was his and Thad's room. Both sides were relatively neat – keeping in mind we're talking about two perfectly average teenage boys. The floor held the odd bit of paper – usually forgotten pieces of writing or sheet music – or item of clothing (once-worn T-shirts, clean and unpaired socks, that sort of thing), but was always vacuumed, always clean – just 'decorated'. A guitar lay at the foot of Jeff's green and gold bed, with a few music books tossed around, and the bedside table usually held a water bottle, a torch, a packet of Tim Tams and some form of fantasy novel. Which was Jeff, really. Sentimental, especially in regards to his home country, organised, always skipping along that line of reality but a definite dreamer…

And Nick's room?

A complete mess.

Usually it would be tidy. Or, well, not so much tidy as everything stuffed into whatever place it could find in the cupboard. But now the floor was strewn with laundry, the bedside table strewn with crumpled tissues that he _was_ planning on putting in the rubbish bin, and his bed… vaguely represented wrapping paper that's been ripped off a present and lies unwanted on the floor. The sheets and pillows and doona were on it, sure, but more like they'd been vomited on top of the bed by the linen monster, rather than smoothed out and tucked in and just _made_, like it always was.

At first, they paid no attention. Even with Jeff and Wes working together, Nick's almost-dead weight was their sole focus. They crossed over to the bed, kicking dirty shirts and crumpled pieces of homework out of their way as they cleared their path. They pulled the doona off completely and drew the sheet, sitting Nick down on the edge, and Jeff supported him from the back and side while Wes gently pushed and pulled and, as a team, got him into his old stripy pyjamas and settled him in bed, tucking the sides in and shaking the doona evenly before covering as much of the feverish boy as was comfortable.

But, as Nick just… existed, like a statue… or a piece of furniture… in his bed, eyes closed, mouth drooping open, chest rustling against the sheet as he took in what could barely count as a breath, it started hitting home.

Nick wasn't a slob. He was a teenage boy, sure, but he had a sense of pride. And today, he'd lost what little dignity he'd been able to hold from his sickness. So, a sideways glance at Wes was all it took. He squeezed Nick's limp hand once, closing his own eyes in a prayer as he kissed his hot and sweaty forehead, before bending down and sweeping all the tissues from the table into the rubbish bin.

They worked in silence for a while. At first it was comforting – he was so aware of Wes' presence, of his… aura, essentially… of that need, that calling, to help, to heal. And, when only competing with the whisper of clothes folding and occasional floorboards creaking, it was easy to hear the hiss of air in Nick's gradually deepening breaths.

But then he turned around to find dark brown – almost black, really – eyes locked into the back of his forehead. And, he didn't see pity. He didn't see fear. He saw… love and concern and compassion. And not just for Nick – but for himself too.

Jeff's own eyes instantly prickled, and he found himself speaking, trying to explain away some foreign concept, one that shouldn't be left to teenage boys. "It's just… this isn't him."

Wes nodded.

"He just… You know Nick…"

"I know, I know," Wes whispered, a hand instantly on his shoulder. "But… he's sick."

"More than he'll admit."

"More than he probably _knows_."

Nick sighed, a tiny moan escaping him, and Jeff pulled back out of Wes' embrace, rushing over to the bed. He _had_ to fix it. Whatever the hell _it_ was. He was still asleep… but he was stirring again. His stupid body couldn't even allow him ten minutes of respite…"It's just… It's not _him_."

"Hey, it's alright." Wes said, a little louder this time, more determined. More certain. "He's stronger than you could imagine. And now that he knows something is off, we can focus on _fixing_ it."

"You think he will though?"

"I think…" This time Wes sighed, and without tearing his eyes from the shadow of his boyfriend, he could tell the senior would be biting his lip. "I think he's gone into negative spoons. And, I think that fainting in rehearsal is about as good, so to speak, a wake-up call as he's going to get…"

"_Jeff…_"

His eyes lit up in an instant, Nick's hand for a fleeting moment squeezing around his… but then he couldn't feel anything. Nothing but Wes' eyes yet again burning into his skull.

"He's waking up," he said. Just to break the silence again. It was too… oppressive. Wes' reassurance was… in good conscience, but really not achieving anything. But then, hearing only Nick's now ragged breathing was even more terrifying.

"_I didn't steal the gavel, Wes, I swear…_"

Wes snorted, dropping down by the other side of the bed. "I know you didn't, Nick," he said quietly, with a small grin. "But who did?"

"_The cookie monster stole the cookie from the cookie jar…_"

Jeff brushed away some of Nick's fringe as it coagulated near his eyes. His forehead was… way too hot to be ignored. Before, it was a little too warm, but now there was no hope. That was definitely a fever, and it certainly didn't feel likely to break anytime soon.

He looked up, but Wes already seemed to know. "I'll, uh… I'll just go grab a washcloth. We can make a compress from that."

"For the fever?"

Wes nodded. "You'll be alright for a minute?"

Jeff bit his lip… Sure, he'd watched over Blaine before. And, sure, he'd seen Nick through thousands of colds. But, there was a huge difference between 'keeping an eye' on someone and actually caring for them. Nick had already fainted – sure, there were only so many things that could go wrong, but every single one of them had suddenly lit up in his mind like an evil Christmas tree.

Wes brushed his own hand against Nick's forehead, grimacing… but he turned to Jeff, swallowing. "You'll have to trust me," he said, cautiously, "but, however hot he might be, he won't seize. Not in the next five minutes, at least, because I can't make any promises." He leant over, and Jeff felt that squeeze on his shoulder again, and calm flow into his body. "I know that's what you're worried about. I don't think his temperature is high enough… but even if it is," he said, standing back up, "you have your training. You know how unlikely it is – but you know what to do in any worse case scenario."

Well… That much at least was true.

"And I know you want to bring his fever down. So I'll go make a compress and come straight back. With the bathroom 30 feet away, I'll be less than a minute. Okay?"

Jeff nodded.

"You'll be alright. You can yell out – and I'll come running."

And then it was just the two of them.

In actuality, it wasn't so much Nick that scared him.

Well… it was. And it wasn't. Of course he was worried about him. Scared shitless, even. Even though every fibre of him knew deep down that Nick would be okay, that he'd pull through it like he did _everything_, because that was just what Nick did… He couldn't believe it. Something was not letting him believe it.

Instead, what was worrying him, was just… this shell. He didn't even know when, or where it had started…. Last year, Nick had just been a normal kid. He'd been bright and happy and, okay, sure, quiet and bashful and definitely a thinker… but definitely Jeff's friend. They'd watched movies together, gone to shows together, plotted to steal Wes' gavel together… Nick had taught him how to scan Latin and Jeff had taught him how to tackle and kick a ball and play something that could almost pass for footy.

Hell, Jeff would even go so far as to call his boyfriend normal.

But then, he'd gone back home for a few months, and, in that time… something had changed. It was small at first. It was Nick turning down a kick of the ball because of his asthma flaring up. Or passing up on a food fight because he had homework to catch up on. It was this subtle wasting away, a fading to grey, of everything Jeff had once loved.

… Not that he didn't still love him. No matter what the hell it was, deep down, it was still Nick. It would always be Nick. But… he didn't seem to enjoy anything anymore – even in choir he'd just… sit and sing his part, but that flare was gone… that lamp inside him had flickered to a smouldering wick and now it was about to consume itself and burn out. And… well, Jeff thought he'd eat whenever he was in the dining hall… maybe a little less simply because he was always sick. But, he'd wasted. And, carrying him up the stairs, even with the dead weight, it wouldn't surprise him if Nick now weighed little over 55 kilos… And, seeing him, in this suddenly huge looking bed… he didn't look like his boyfriend.

He didn't look old enough.

He was just so… small. Even sitting up, the doona was scrunched around him, swaddling him. His feet barely looked like they reached halfway down the bed, and his own body barely made the covers rise up above him. He was… tiny. Young. Vulnerable.

Like a child.

"_Thad. It was Thad, Wes… always coveted… chocolate…"_

"Yeah, Thad's always been after Elsie," a voice came from the door, and Jeff snorted, Nick's sleep-mumblings and Wes' re-entrance breaking him from his thoughts. He shook his head, looking at the Asian but never letting go Nick's hand. He was so close to consciousness again… he couldn't risk letting it go.

Which, of course, Wes understood completely. He crossed the room silently, a facewasher and bowl of water in tow. He knelt down next to Jeff, looking at him, eyes questioning, but when they couldn't find the recognition they were seeking, Wes picked up the face-washer and dunked it in the water. Squeezed it out, then handed it to Jeff and shrunk backwards, pushing himself up onto the desk chair, watching… eyes warm, encouraging.

"Thank you."

"You should be the one to do it," Wes whispered.

"Thank you," Jeff repeated as he raised the flannel.

And then, that first touch, and it was all them. Only them. The fever, the temperature difference, it all disappeared. Or, well, it was there, but it didn't really matter. Each rhythmical dunking and squeezing of water, absorbing the heat from Nick's face and conveying it back to the cloth, to the bowl… it was so… natural. So… right. It was reassuring, in a twisted sense. Like, Jeff was meant to be there. Jeff was meant to be caring for Nick. He couldn't always be there to protect him… but he would always be around to clean up the mess left behind.

"_Jeff…_"

He jumped as Nick's hand – which was somehow still caught up in his – twitched.

"_Hurts…_"

"I know, babe."

Wes' hand was on his shoulder again, but shook his head…

Though, for once, his sixth sense betrayed him. Nick whimpered, then slowly opened his eyes.

"Jeff?"

"Shhh." Jeff picked up his hand, kissing his fingers. "I'm here."

"How are you feeling?" Wes asked.

There was a sound – and Jeff looked around for a kicked puppy, because there was _no way_ that pain had come from his boyfriend. But Nick's throat was shaking – his whole body was shaking – and he opened his mouth. "It hurts…"

"What does?"

"Everything…"

"Do you… Can I…"

Words failed him, so Wes took over. "Is there anything we can do? Other than get the nurse… who's probably busy, I'd imagine, or else she'd be here already…"

Nick shook his head. "I just…" He bit his lip. "I'm so cold…"

Wes felt his forehead, before flinching. "Fever's going up," he muttered to the side.

But Jeff knew what Nick wanted… He climbed into bed next to Nick, wrapping his arms around the sick boy. "Better?"

Nick sighed, nuzzling into Jeff's chest. "Cuddles…"

"I'm not hurting you?"

"No. You'd never hurt me." Though dark clouds were still brewing behind those chocolate eyes… "I'm sorry."

"What?" Jeff kissed his temple, craning his neck to properly look at him.

"I'm sorry…" His whole body shuddered, eyes squeezed shut… a tiny drop fell onto Jeff's bare arm. "I'm sorry, I'm such a nuisance. I'm sorry."

"No." Wes spoke again, eyes snapping forward to meet Nick's, his words forceful – perhaps a little more than intended, but, then again, Wes always did have a funny thing about apologies. "You're ill. It's not your fault. You can't help it. And you _certainly_ aren't a nuisance."

"But… but I should… should have taken better care of myself…"

"No," Wes repeated. "You're only human. You have to _let_ yourself be sick sometimes."

It wasn't until weeks later when either of them would truly understand that comment.

"And," the senior continued, "it's not like you've never taken care of _us_, either. Or do you not remember two years back? When you saved my life?"

Jeff frowned. It shouldn't surprise him… but it did. Nick had always been shy, always played his cards close to his chest… but saving someone? And, what's more, saving Wes? That was the type of thing you'd expect to be told around a campfire, or written in Latin and stored in the false bottom of the drawers in the council desk.

Nick shook his head though, a hand clenching at Jeff's shift. "I can't… My head…"

Nick may not have been able to focus on anything at that moment… but that day was still burnt into Wes' mind. Just how many facets there were to the boy… the innocent, the vulnerable, but still, the strong, the calm, the protective. And, of course, the lock-pick.

He shook his head, eyes gazing over their heads, into the corner, into the TV screen of his mind. And, as Nick gave a weak cough, Wes opened his own mouth to speak.

* * *

_It had started fairly early on during the day. The school had been renovating and painting some of the halls… and the smell must have been getting to him. He'd woken up coughing, hand fumbling through the drawer in his bedside table for that familiar, yet hated, cool plastic – his inhaler._

_That attack had been fairly mild. He'd been able to get dressed, eat breakfast, go to class. There was that weight burning a hole in his pocket, sure. The secret trips to the bathroom between classes so he could sneak in the medication. But he could breathe, and he could hide._

_He hated the thing. Always had. It was a weakness. It was some… external, alien necessity. He hated having to rely on it. He hated the fact that some days his lungs just did not want to open themselves enough. And he especially hated that whenever he got sick or stressed everything would shut down and he would be that less-than-perfect thing with some strange third arm, just so that he could keep breathing._

_In all honesty, he thought he'd be able to get through it. He always thought that… and typically he was able to fight through it. He knew how to sing, talk, breathe through an attack. He knew how to stand to hide his heaving shoulders, how to breathe to hide a wheeze, how to ignore the tightening and the feeling like he was breathing through a straw under water. But sometime during sixth period, his lungs started to clamp down. Hard._

_The wheeze had been there all day. But his final class drew on, he could feel himself expending more energy just trying to suck enough air in, let alone to get it back out again. His heart raced, his head pounded, and his vision started creeping in at the edges. He was no longer counting seconds until the bell rang and he could get his next hit of salbutamol like the heroin junkie he labelled himself – he was simply counting the breaths he could still take and praying they wouldn't run out before he could escape._

_He couldn't remember the bell ringing. He couldn't remember virtually crawling up to his room. He could barely remember locking the door, scrabbling to tear the head off the nebule and squeeze the meds into the reservoir. He couldn't remember collapsing into bed, the mask strapped to his head because his hands were too spastic to hold it._

_He couldn't remember Nick bursting through the door unannounced. He couldn't remember the weight on the edge of his bed, the brunette leaning over him._

_He couldn't remember any longer how to breathe._

* * *

"God," Nick said, straightening up, which struck Jeff as odd – as one of the few religious… or, at least, spiritual… boys that he knew, blaspheming was not exactly Nick's MO. "I _do_ remember that. You weren't at rehearsal, and even if the others weren't worried it just… didn't sit right. So I went up to your room, and finding your door locked sort of cinched the deal. And I could hear this frantic sort of movement in there…"

"And then the nebuliser switched on?"

"Can't _you_ remember?"

Wes pulled a face. "Nope. I just remember you sitting on my bed and pouring crap all over my chest."

"You couldn't use your hands. The muscles were contracting because you didn't have enough oxygen. Your hands were all crumpled and clawlike… I had to turn the machine on and slip the mask around your head – with you trying to fight me off." He broke off, thinking… "At least I'm not that bad. I just fainted in front of everyone. You were forced to help yourself while I watched."

Wes hummed. "I hadn't really known you that long then either, had I?"

"No." He smiled again, softly, shyly, oddly reminiscent. "That's one of the reasons why I went looking for you… I was originally planning to come out to you then… though that obviously got put on hold."

"I think I sensed that…" Wes frowned. "Or… I dunno… I was really out of it."

"You were. But you trusted me. And I trusted you. I think we started becoming friends at that point."

* * *

"_So… you're not going to ask me anything?" Wes finally broke the silence._

"_It's up to you if _you_ want to tell me anything." Nick picked up one of Wes' hands again, watching it twitch and jitter. "… One of my older sisters has cystic fibrosis. I've seen her with nebulisers thousands of times. I've seen the tremors it causes, the fear from the sheer inability to breathe… and I've held plenty of kidney dishes after she's finally been able to cough something up." He shrugged. "And my whole family has asthma. If you want to tell me why you decided to be a cat and slink away to die quietly, that's fine. But if you don't want to, I won't force you to. I know how tiring attacks can be…"_

_Wes smiled. "Thank you." He just looked so worn out, each cough worsening the trembling of his whole body… He actually looked young for once. Nick was so used to seeing this strong, invincible man. Now all he saw was a tired, ill, 17 year old boy._

"_I can hear that you're a lot better, but I have to ask. Is there anything I can do to help?"_

_Wes coughed again, the now-loose mucous rattling around deep in his chest. It looked painful, though Nick was used to that. Actually, he was somewhat reassured by it, as horrible as that was. It meant that there was enough air supply whistling through his lungs to produce that sound._

_Then Wes straightened himself up, wiping his mouth and streaming eyes. "Rehearsal?"_

"_You want me to cancel it?"_

"_No…" Wes managed a half-sigh. "Can you tell them I'm sick and won't make it? They don't need to see or hear this. They don't need to be worried."_

_Now it was Nick's turn to sigh. "Of course…" he trailed off. "But, what do you need? I've got some peppermint tea hidden away somewhere. Or, I've got a massive tub of Vicks VapoRub – because, as better as you may be, I can tell the attack is still lingering a little."_

"_No." Wes slumped a little lower. "Go rehearse. Tell them. I'm just going to sleep this off. I'm tired…"_

"_Fine," Nick lied, knowing full well that as soon as his message was passed, he'd be coming straight back up to the senior's room. Wes might not admit, even to himself, that he needed help – but Nick knew firsthand how terrifying attacks were and he didn't want to leave him alone – especially when he could still hear the ghost of a wheeze. "I'll let them know. You take care." He pushed a pillow behind Wes' back, allowing him to half-sit-half-lie, tucking the doona around him._

"_Thanks, Nick."_

"_No worries," he reassured him as he stepped out the door. "You'd do the same for us."_

* * *

"And did," Nick continued. "You and Jeff both saw me through _my_ last attack. In almost exactly the same way."

"Yeah, well, it's not like we're keeping tally," Wes said, a sly grin beginning to paint his face again.

"And you do look after me all the time, too." Jeff squeezed his hand, the other running up and down his back. "I mean… last week, even, you were there."

Wes looked at him, eyes crinkling. He hadn't been ill – just homesick – so Wes _wouldn't_ have known about it. For once. The idea of Wes _not knowing_ something was…. slightly hilarious.

Jeff pulled Nick in close, half-whispering directly into his ear, as he tried to explain to both of them just what that past week had meant.

* * *

_Douglas Adams once proposed a theory that "in moments of great stress, every life form that exists gives out a tiny subliminal signal. This signal simply communicates an exact and almost pathetic sense of how far that being is from the place of his birth."_

_To be truly honest, Jeff could understand where an idea like that might be born. Only, if he _was_ emitting any signals, no one was picking them up._

_There wasn't really anything setting him off. Just one of the perks of living in America, when your home is all the way down under (and, yes, that is meant to be highly nasalised). He'd just been sitting in Latin, about fifteen minutes left of the day, and it hit him. He didn't want to be around Americans. He wanted to be around people that wouldn't laugh at him for smothering every meal with tomato sauce, for using the terms 'rubber' and 'thongs', for turning absolutely everything he said into a question._

_He wouldn't get anyone like that here. No one who knew how to say 'aunt' and 'banana' and 'tomato' properly. No one to repeat the accent._

_He just… wanted to be home._

_So, he hid himself away. The piano room was his first place of call. It was like a safe haven for the boys. It was always open, at any time of day or night. It could be used for any purpose, be that practise, arranging, mucking around… but there was an unspoken rule that if someone was in there, unless it was an emergency, you did not enter. And so, rushing straight out of class to seek the comforting smoothness of the ebony and ivory, Jeff holed himself up in the room._

_At first he just messed around with chord progressions and harmonies, turning songs into his own melancholic arrangements. But the more he sat there, the more he released into the piano… the more he realised that, even if they didn't sound the same as him, being alone was not what he needed – or even really wanted – at that point in time._

_He wanted someone to come in. Anyone. Wes, Blaine, David, Nick… hell, even Trent. He yelled their names in his head… but no one came. The laws of the piano room forbade it._

… _Until he turned to Paul Kelly. It was an odd choice, perhaps. He was using a piano, rather than guitar, so it was a little more cautious than normal. And he wasn't in an actual prison cell, like the song suggested – just the one in his mind, that kept teasing him with thoughts of home like a greyhound with a rabbit it's never going to catch._

I guess the brothers are driving down from Queensland, and Stella's flying in from the coast.

They say it's going to be 100 degrees – even more, maybe,

But that won't stop the roast.

Who's gonna make the gravy now?

I bet it won't taste the same…

Just add flour, salt, a little red wine,

And don't forget a dollop of tomato sauce for sweetness and that extra tang…

_The words didn't really invoke that sense of pathos, either. It was just… some inexplicable homeness to that song._

_He wasn't sure when Nick had entered the room… but he was singing_

I'm really gonna miss it, all the treasure and the trash

_when suddenly there were hands on his shoulder, and skin against his side, and lips against his cheek._

_He stopped playing in an instant, taking a moment before he looked up into pools of chocolate._

"_Oh, Jeff…" Nick's thumb brushed against his cheek, wiping away tears that he hadn't even realised had fallen._

_He pressed the heel of his hand into his cheekbones, soaking up any traces of moisture, before crumpling sideways into the open arms of his boyfriend._

_And Nick held him, rocked him, kissed the top of his head, murmured sweet nothings._

"_I'm sorry," he finally managed to whisper._

"_Shhhh." Nick squeezed him. "What happened?"_

"_Nothing," he said, turning his head upwards and borrowing Nick's lips a minute. "I just…"_

"_Miss home," Nick finished, looking deep into Jeff, moving his lips from Jeff's and up to his forehead._

_Jeff just nodded, relishing in the warmth. In the sense of purpose filling up that hole from just five minutes earlier._

"_Move down a little," Nick said, reaching an arm across – to the middle of the piano – interlocked, almost with Jeff's. Then, without dropping the direct contact between their sides, Nick, this time, began to sing and play._

Live in my house, and I'll be your shelter.

Just pay me back with one thousand kisses.

Be my lover and I'll cover you.

With a thousand sweet kisses,

I'll cover you.

_And that was all he needed, as cheesy as it was. A reminder that home wasn't where you were born – it was the company that you kept._

_Jeff put a hand on Nick's cheek, turning his head around and captured his lips._

"_I love you, you know," Nick told him when they broke apart._

"_You just love my accent," Jeff teased him, _much_ happier than before._

_Which didn't escape Nick, as he grinned and rolled over Jeff's body, straddling him on the stool, leaning down again – _

* * *

"_Thank_ you, Jeff," Nick said. "I don't think Wes needs to hear the rest of that story."

But Wes just looked amused. "The piano room? Seriously?"

Jeff blushed. "Well… point is, you deserve to be looked after just as much as any one of the rest of us."

"Mm… Maybe." Nick looked like he wanted to say more, but no one there could miss the grimaces whenever he spoke, and instead he fell silent once more.

Jeff looked down at his watch in the momentary break. Had it really only been fifteen minutes? And still… that was a long time for the nurse to come. Though, then again, a lot of people were sick at the moment. And, with Wes around, unless someone was already dead, the nurse felt comfortable trusting Wes to… keep her patients alive until she got round to them…

God, his thoughts were getting morbid. Nick wasn't dying. Sure, he was sick… but, even with the flu or whatever the hell he had, he wasn't exactly on death's door.

Wes clicked, bringing his attention back up from his watch, and smiled at him. "She'll be here," he said, the mind-reading not even registering in Jeff's mind – it took time but he was definitely used to the senior doing that – "But, in the meantime…"

Jeff groaned. Whenever Wes wanted to fill space… out came the terrible jokes. Yet another reason why the school nicknamed him Papa Wes.

"Did you know there's 11 types of people in the world? Those that understand binary, and those who don't."

Jeff shook his head.

"What do you call a black man flying a plane?"

"Do I need to ask David?"

Wes grinned. "No! A pilot!"

Nick stared at him… but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. If nothing else, at least he was amused…

"What did Batman say to Robin before they got in the Batmobile?" Wes continued.

Jeff just let out a sigh.

"'Robin, get in the Batmobile!'"

And that was definitely a smile. Even terrible humour is humour, he supposed. "My turn," he said. He could afford to drop his dignity a little if it made Nick feel even the slightest bit better. "Why'd the koala fall out of the tree?"

He only got blank looks.

"It was dead. Why'd the second koala fall out of the tree?"

"It was dead?" Nick asked.

"Nah. It was tied to a pool table. Why'd the third koala fall out of the tree?"

"Someone threw a fridge at it?" Wes guessed.

Jeff snorted. "Nope. Tied to the second koala. Why'd the fourth koala fall out?"

"Tied to the third."

Jeff couldn't help but giggle a little… "Peer pressure."

… Blame that one on the anxiety twisting the sanity and, er, _taste_ in his mind. Though, Nick was still smiling, and Wes had actually laughed at that one.

… Maybe they were all just a little overwrought.

Wes' eyes were shining though, a little smugly, like he knew _exactly_ what would happen if he started telling jokes. Like _he_ was responsible for dragging them all down to his level. "Helium walks into a bar. The barman apologises, saying, 'We don't serve noble gases here.' Helium doesn't react."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "What do you do with dead chemists?"

"You barium," Nick piped up… He actually sounded a little more energetic, a little more… alive. "Wanna hear a joke about sodium?"

"Na!" Jeff said. "But, did you hear about the chem teachers? They all walked into a bar, and Mr Denmead went with Francis up to order. Denners says to the barman, 'I'll just have some H2O, thanks.' And apparently Francis bitch-stares him, and asks for a diet Coke."

"What?"

Jeff grinned. "Denners came to class bitching about his failed assassination attempt. She was meant to order some H2O too."

Wes snorted. "Very meta- of you, Jeff. Did you hear about the guy that froze himself to absolute zero?"

"Is he 0K now?"

The boys jumped as Ms Wearne's voice floated through the open doorway, her gentle facing smiling under her frazzled hair as she finally stepped into the room.

"We are such _nerds_," Nick said, shaking his head.

"Nah," Jeff replied. "We only tell chem jokes periodically."

Wes was also on a role, his own pun spoken at the same time. "Well, chemistry jokes just… put me in my element."

"And all the good jokes argon," Ms Wearne said as she put down her kit by the bed. "Sorry for taking so long – a freshman decide to test the laws of physics and came crashing down the stairs so I've been patching him up. Nick, Blaine filled me in rather rapidly, but can you tell me what's wrong?"

It was all rather rushed, her words, and she was obviously stressed, but, man, it was good to have the nurse here. Someone who _knew_ what they were doing, who could look at Nick and work out what to do and make decisions and be an adult.

The nurse unzipped her kit, dragging the desk chair (that Wes had now vacated) over to the other side of the bed as she pulled out a stethoscope and a portable blood pressure cuff machine thingy… a sphygmomanometer. Jeff wondered where she hid her third, and possibly fourth, arm.

"I, um…" Nick's face, if possible, burnt even hotter against his neck as he blushed. "I fainted in rehearsal…"

"He's been sick for… awhile…" Jeff added. "Not that he ever comes to see you – not unless it's really bad…"

"You have been to see me quite frequently…" The nurse bit her lip. "You sound really congested – coughing, sneezing, runny nose?"

Nick nodded.

Ms Wearne reached into her bag and pulled out an ear thermometer. "I'm going to check your temp, just for the records. How's your head feeling?"

Nick sniffed. "I'm still really dizzy."

"You didn't tell me that," Jeff whispered to him, kissing his temple.

"And anything else?" The thermometer beeped, and she pulled it out. "Temp's 102." She strapped the cuff over Nick's upper arm to begin taking his blood pressure.

"I… um…"

Jeff looked down at his boyfriend, who seemed embarrassed to admit to anything else being wrong. "He said that everything hurt… and his stomach's a bit… funny…"

"It's probably just the flu. There's a lot of that at the moment," she said, her voice calm. But none of them could miss her frown, growing steadily more pronounced, or the way her lip caught itself in her teeth and the grunt of frustration she let out as she ripped off the cuff and repositioned it on his arm.

Something was wrong. Well… okay, Nick was sick, but something new, something right now, this very second, not related to the illness, was wrong.

Ms Wearne pumped up the cuff, and they all watched the pressure gage fall. Jeff couldn't tell what it was… but something was putting her on edge, which was obviously rubbing off on Wes and Nick, too. But after trying his other arm, she ripped out the stethoscope, holding it to Wes. "You know the theory behind this?"

Wes nodded. "I'm not a doctor though," he said, the questioning lilt in his voice reflecting the general confusion of the room.

"Doesn't matter. I just want to make sure I'm not going nuts," she said, strapping up Nick's arm once again. She placed the drum of the stethoscope against the crook of his elbow. "Wes, just listen. Tell me when you hear his heartbeat, and when it disappears again."

"Sure."

While they ran it again, Jeff squeezed Nick's other hand, planting kiss after gentle kiss against the back of his neck, not tickling – just something to reassure him. The last thing they needed was for him to get stressed by whatever the hell was going on right now.

They didn't need words. They never did, really. By something as simple as a kiss, as a cuddle, as fingers working small circles into his head and pulling through his hair, he knew he could convey his message to Nick. That he was there. That he always would be. That Nick was going to be okay, that even though now sucked absolute balls, there was always something good out there.

That Jeff loved him, and that Nick loved him just as much in return. Plain and simple.

But finally they were done, and Wes had paled a little as they packed up the equipment.

"So, how much longer have I to live?" Nick deadpanned, patting the spare mattress beside him for Wes to sit down.

"Your blood pressure is… about 92 over 55. Which is… low…" Wes said, taking the offered seat.

"Normal is typically 120 over 80. For you guys, I'd expect it lower, because you're young, you're growing, you're fit, all that jazz. But, I'd want you higher than 90 over 60."

"So, what does that mean?" Jeff asked, arms instinctively tightening around Nick.

Ms Wearne frowned again. "He needs to be looked at. Fevers and general illnesses I can treat myself, but not a diastole this low… he needs tests…"

"So… what? Do we need an ambulance?"

Ms Wearne bit her lip. "I'll have to arrange transport."

Wes looked up at that stage, eyes blazing.

But the nurse shook her head. "No, Wes."

"I'm – "

"Don't pull the _I'm eighteen, I'm legal_ card, Wes. I _know_ you just want to help out, but I can't send you and him alone, no matter how capable your healing hands may be."

"I'm going too!" Jeff interjected. "I'm not leaving him."

Nick squeezed his hand harder… which he'd never dropped the entire time he'd been awake. Not even to wipe off the sweat dewing his fingers.

"Look, if I get Vincent to drive, will that do? I know he's a bit… eccentric…"

But all three boys were nodding furiously.

"Pedy would be amazing," Wes said. "He's used to us. … We can go, right?"

"Don't you boys have…" her voice faded away as she really looked at them. Jeff was by Nick's side, his body covering him and eyes glaring protectively, while Wes was… staring at her. And Nick was curled in a ball, shivering, clasping the hands of the other boys. He was sick already – she didn't want to inflict any more pain than he was already in. She sighed. "I'll write you a pass and inform your dorm master. I _know_ he'll be in good hands – so don't let me down."

"Thank you," Nick whispered to her.

"You're lucky we're so pressed for staff tonight," she said with a small smile. "Nick, just… get yourself better, alright? And boys – make sure you keep me updated. I want to hear it from _you_, and not from some arrogant doctor, first – otherwise I _will_ get Pedy to apparate your asses back home with the snap of a finger."

… And with Mr Pedy, that wasn't necessarily an idle threat…

"Does that sound fair?"

"Perfectly," Wes reassured her.

"Thank you," Jeff added.

She looked at the trio… Nick was in good hands. Poor kid. But, he needed tests and care that she didn't feel she could provide here. "I'll go talk to Pedy. You kids get ready… and take care."

"Thank you," Nick repeated, and she turned out the door, kit on shoulder and phone by her ear.

Wes stood up, pulling out a plastic bag and began to pack for an overnight trip… just in case. "Alright, Nick, you sit there," he said, "and Jeff and I will get you ready to go."

* * *

**Hi guys!**

**So... it has been _wayyyy_ too long since this - or anything of mine, really - got updated.**

**What's been going on with me? Work and exams. I'm done on the 19th, though, so fingers crossed I'll have a little time then to keep writing. It's been so hard this semester though. I've had to really focus on my studies, so, unfortunately, writing has just... fallen to the side a little...**

**BUT the year is almost over!**

**And and and and I get to go to sleep soon. It's 5 am. Which, even for me, is pushing it.**

**This one is dedicated to Carbon65, who I've owed a reward/bribe type thing for... God only knows how long now.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with me these past months. I'm so sorry it's been so long coming... but it hasn't been forgotten, I can assure you! So thank you to everyone who has read, favourited, subscribed and reviewed! Shout outs to perfectlyODD, Eraman, astateofgrace, Different Child, PenMagic, Carbon65, xXLittle Rose AngelXx, browneyes12 and Sarah! Sarah, I'm sorry it's taken so long - but, I'll be done with exams in under 2 weeks, so I should have more updates, and more regular then!**

**What's going on with me... Um... Glee... :P Hahaha um... I'm going to see Coldplay on Tuesday night, which is SOOOOOO exciting! CANNOT WAIT for it. My friends bought me a ticket for my birthday, so it's aMAzing to be able to get it finally! :D :D :D**

**Ah... Songs used are How to Make Gravy, by Paul Kelly - which I urge you to all at least look up, because it is actually a pretty good song. I grew up listening to him - he's iconic - and I figure, well, there's some sort of longing in there... And the other one is I'll Cover You, from Rent. Which is a beautiful song, but, dear God, you all need to go look up the Telly Leung version of it. Any of them :P**

**Oh, and, has anybody else got Telly's album? Or, at least, heard his cover of Firework? Oh. My. God. I don't know how I'm still alive.**

**There's probably more, but it's past 5 am and I do need sleep. I mean, I wrote a story recently about a piece of food that got eaten and everything it saw on its way down... While I'm _definitely_ going to know the gastrointestinal system, I think I should possibly cling a little tighter to the tiny amount of sanity I can still claim...**

**Anyhoo... Like it? Hate it? Want me to fracture the head of my humerus and endanger my radial nerve? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling! :D**


	4. The Journey of A Thousand Miles

"_In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since._

"'_Whenever you feel like criticising anyone,' he told me, 'just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.'_

"_He didn't say any more, but we've always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I'm inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores._"

"Hey, that kinda reminds me of you, Nick!" Jeff interrupted with a grin, thumb running over the palm of his boyfriend's hand. "That's why you're always so quiet, right? Because you like listening to people, and understanding them?"

Nick smiled a little, shifting his weight around on the hospital gurney. He hummed a short note of agreement. "His name's Nick too – the narrator."

"Nick's a bit of a pompous ass though," Wes had to add, the book falling down to rest on his chin, "and sort of hypocritical. He claims to be the bearer of all knowledge, but I don't think he really knows what he's talking about half the time. He just covers it up with his flowery language, like the women do their dresses."

Nick smothered a tiny cough into his fist – the non-IV-fist – before glancing back at the senior sitting backwards on the guest chair. "Keep reading?" he asked in a tiny voice. "Please?"

"I didn't even make it through 3 paragraphs before your boyfriend interrupted me!" Wes chuckled. But he picked the book up again and kept up where he left off.

Nick nuzzled down into Jeff's warm chest, feeling the blonde's arms clench gently over him, protecting him, as the words washed over them both. He wasn't comfortable – not that the word 'comfort' held a whole lot of meaning in the emergency room, with the constant beeps of monitors and squeaking of rubber-soled shoes on the lino floors, and people outside coughing and crying. But, he felt safe. He was right up against Jeff, and supposedly the IV fluids were helping with the blood pressure… and Wes was right over the side of the railing, a finger playing absentmindedly over the back of Nick's hand as he read. And Pedy was somewhere too – getting coffee, probably, or hitting on the nursing staff.

In a sense, he'd been pretty lucky. Wes and Jeff had packed everything up for him, and all he'd had to do was stagger out to Pedy's van. And when they finally got to hospital, he managed to stand a little quickly and, well… let's say it wasn't the first time that Jeff had, er, swept him off his feet. But, the collapsing had meant an almost immediate admittance behind the mysterious blue curtains, blood rushed for testing, and an IV and water and something to help his fever…

It was definitely strange to be on this side of the bed though. He wasn't really sure what to do with it all… But, luckily, both Wes and Jeff seemed to be old pros. He'd been allowed to keep his pyjamas on, so the instant the nurse had left with his blood and Pedy had gone for "go-go juice", Jeff had climbed into the cot, dragged Nick into the usual little-spoon position, and began tracing circles with his thumb, carefully avoiding the port the saline drip was flushing into.

It was almost familiar. Almost homely. If not for the whole Nick-being-on-the-wrong-side-of-the-bed thing.

"_No – Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and shortwinded elations of men._"

"I can't believe how beautiful the language is!" Jeff exclaimed, not really caring about how frequently he was interrupting Wes.

"I can't believe that you haven't read it before," Nick whispered to him. "It's only, you know, one of the finest pieces of literature ever written."

And Wes threw up his hands with a sigh. "I can't believe I actually thought I could get some work done in a hospital with you two around." But he smiled. "I'll have to hold you to this. I'm going to expect some sort of discussion in remuneration, Nick."

"Of course. I'm… I'm sorry, Wes."

"Hey! No! Bad!" Jeff tapped his nose gently. "No apologising! Bad dog!"

Nick groaned. "It's in my nature."

"You're sick," Wes reminded him… like he could forget… "I think that's punishment enough… Do you want me to keep going?"

Nick could only hum some sort of acknowledgement this time though… The meds were working absolute wonders on his temperature – his head had begun to settle to a dull, tired ache, and while there was a thick brain fog he was still trying desperately to fight through, he… felt a lot less like dying and more like he could just sleep for a few years. But, like when he ate anything nowadays – and taking medication orally would definitely count – he couldn't pretend away the nausea that was rapidly making itself known again… and he still couldn't lift his head off Jeff's chest. Not that either was complaining.

It sucked. It really did. He couldn't remember the last time he actually felt somewhat well. Life lately had turned into working out how sick he was each morning, and how he could push himself through it. Every morning, lunch, dinner, whenever, he'd find himself judging how much he could take in his stomach, whether he'd be able to participate in choir, in sports… whether he'd be able to do homework or just crawl straight into bed.

At least everyone seemed to understand. But it didn't stop hurting. He was just so over it. In a sense he was almost grateful to be in the hospital – it meant a clear step in the long journey of getting answers.

"Babe? You okay? I mean… relatively?"

Jeff's voice was in his ear, concerned but steady, persistent… he wondered how long he'd been lost for. "Mm-nn."

"You gonna spew?"

Nick, with an almost supernatural strength, rolled himself away from Jeff, towards the edge of the bed and the lino floors, his heart threatening to leap out his mouth with his stomach contents. But Wes' mind-reading was just as strong as ever and with a grimace he opened up and handed him a bag.

And then he saw stars, bright white and flickering, his vision pounding black and red as he coughed and gasped and Wes left the room to call for a nurse and Jeff helped steady his hand and rub his back, up and down, up and down, urging him to breathe, in and out.

"Oh, Nicky… Poor bugger…"

He retched a couple more times before forcing in a deep breath and collapsing back into Jeff's body, every muscle he had shaking, his vision slowly fading out, no longer aware of where the bag was or what was clenched in his other hand or even where _he_ was even more.

"You finished?"

"Mmm… Think so," Nick whispered, closing his eyes. "I'm – "

"Don't you dare even _think_ sorry," Jeff whispered back as he kissed his sweaty temple. "I'm… I mean, I'm not exactly happy you're sick, but it's okay. Part of me job as your boyfriend to look after you, right?"

"I'm…"

"Nick!"

He forced another deep breath, trying to make him understand… but why couldn't he get the words out?

"… really…"

The light dropped down from the ceiling, shooting sparks like a firestorm.

"… dizzy…"

And with that, the world once again went black as Nick fainted for god-only-knows which time that night.

* * *

When he came back around, his room was buzzing with people. Wes was sitting cross-legged on the corner of his bed, engaged in hush conversation with Jeff, who, it appeared, hadn't moved an inch since the collapse, other than freeing up his hands so he could keep every inch of skin connected between them. Pedy was perched on the chair opposite his bed, eying up a… lucky or rather unfortunate nurse, depending on whose perspective, as he hung a fresh bag onto the drip.

Then he sneezed, and all eyes in the room turned to his.

"Bless you, Nicky! You're awake!"

"Welcome back, little man."

"Feeling any better after your sleep?"

The nurse passed him a tissue before shining a bright light in his eyes.

Nick forced a smile as he wiped at his nose.

And then Jeff was back, his warm hand resting on his stomach and lips finding themselves around his ear. "You're so dehydrated, they turned up the drip a little. That's why you fainted – you don't have enough water to keep your blood pressure up… I think…"

"How long was I out?" He turned in, trying to bury his burning face into Jeff's armpit.

"Just a few minutes," Wes responded. He reached out, fingers squeezing around his knee. "You scared us all though."

"Are you okay?"

"Me?" Wes looked confused.

"You don' do vomit," Nick explained, "and… I kinda… didn't exactly help…"

Wes chuckled. "I sprinted the instant you gripped that bag. I didn't see anything – it's hard enough for these poor nurses without me adding to their mess! But, I'm fine, so don't you worry your pretty little head about me, okay?"

Nick's eyes closed, so heavy, a little longer than a blink, and he yawned. "Good," he finally responded. "Don' wanna make you bad too."

"Wait, Nick." The nurse moved in closer again. "I bet you're really tired, but…" He held out a lurid orange icicle. "Can you try eating this before you sleep? It's just got some sugar and extra salts and the such in there. It'll help replace what you lost faster, and should help make you feel better."

He wanted to clap a hand in front of his face and refuse anything by mouth. Sure, he felt more stable than before he collapsed, but throwing up so hard he fell unconscious was quite possibly one of the most humiliating situations he'd found himself in, and he wasn't exactly keen to repeat it.

Jeff reached out to grab it. "Come on, Nicky. Have a bite of the radioactive icy-pole." He held it up to his lips.

"If it helps, kiddo, it probably tastes the same way coming back out," Pedy added with a wicked grin.

Nick groaned. "Fine. I'll try."

"Nick, your Texas is showing," Jeff teased, holding it steady as he bit a tiny amount off. "Poor darlin'," he… attempted to imitate, and Nick couldn't help but smile. "Forgettin' how to end yah words an' all. We'll hafta go lookin' for all them missin' G's 'n' D's!"

He rolled his eyes at the theatrics, but he couldn't stop another blush creeping along his cheeks. Born and raised in Texas, he'd worked hard to hide his usual drawl, but whenever he got tired or stressed, he started falling back into his old lazy habits, dropping his endings and letting each word just flow into the next, flattening all his vowels…

"Jeff, be nice – he's exhausted," Wes gently chastised. "Nick, finish your Hydrolyte and go back to sleep, alright?"

" 'M tryin'," he said around another mouthful, ignoring the grumbling in his stomach. "Can you keep reading? Please?"

Wes smiled and nodded, reaching out for his book. "_I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer…_"

* * *

_Beep… beep… beep… beep… beep…_

That's all this place was. An infinite wandering between being poked and prodded, having blood drawn and saline dripping straight into his veins, and Jeff and Wes and Pedy around him, all breathing seemingly in time with his, with the beeping of the sat monitor clipped to his little finger. Bouncing between the actual hopelessness of the crying and despair that taints the air of any emergency department of any hospital, and then the fleeting promise of hope, no matter how shallow or insubstantial, that being here would make a difference.

Time just seemed to halt in these places. Like a loophole formed around a hospital… it became less about the minutes and hours and what people were doing outside, whether it was time for dinner or time for sleep or breakfast or washing the car or whatever position people were at in their usual routine, and became more about counting the beeps, the heartbeats that had passed, and how many were remaining until you could see anything other than the endless white of labcoats and walls. Days, weeks, months even, just fell into a meaningless string of beeps.

Someone should add _that_ to Einstein's Theory of Relativity.

_Beep… Beep… Beep. Beep._

He was going to be sick again. He wasn't sure when. But it was going to happen. It was the quickening of his heart, the shallowing of his breaths, the fluttering of the butterflies as they crept further up his throat.

Wes looked over at him, his eyes locked deep into his. The signs were there… He was probably starting to pale even further now…

Jeff was curled next to him. He was asleep… he looked asleep. His mouth was gently closed, his eyelashes fluttering a little, and his breaths were accompanied by a tiny hum as his fist clenched protectively over Nick's hand, his arms flexing so he could feel the muscles moving over his chest.

Nick willed himself to think about anything but his stomach.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

"It's alright, Nick. You're okay. Keep breathing."

It was Wes this time that was there, helping him sit up, steadying his head and rubbing his back.

"I'm sorry. Just…. Just let it out. You're alright."

Despite the quivering in his voice, there was such compassion in there… Nick gulped, his mouth starting to water. He didn't want to do this to Wes… but his eyes were set straight ahead in that quiet determination they both shared.

He brought the bag up to his mouth, pushing away Wes' hand, and threw up once again.

"There. There you go. That's better. Shhhh."

He collapsed sideways this time, into Wes' arms. He could hear the senior's heart beating through his chest – faster than even his own. But, it was over. There was nothing left in him.

"Oh, Nick…" Wes stood there, a hand sweeping across his forehead and picking off bits of hair. "We'll have to get you something else… Poor little nightingale."

"Nicky?" Jeff was sitting up now, arms crossed. "You feeling better now?"

He could only manage a small groan.

Wes took a little step back and Jeff moved forward again, instantly transferring his weight back to his boyfriend. "I'm… sorry I can't do more, Nick." But the step back wasn't one of hiding – the next instant there was a polystyrene cup of water in his hand, reaching over the bed railing for him. "Here."

Nick smiled. "You sound like me now," he whispered.

"We'll make a deal then. I won't apologise if you don't."

Nick nodded.

"You seem a little better now… You're still conscious."

"I do feel better. There's no stars this time… and you're not red."

Jeff grinned. "Always a good sign."

Wes paused, his eyes flicking between the two, like he was deliberating something… He frowned. "Do you want me to call anyone? I know… I heard, rather… that your parents are on holidays with your sister, right? But, I mean… We can try your sisters at home…"

"No." For once, Nick felt certain about something in this place. "They're happy about Clara getting her wish. Don't drag them down with worry for me. My family deserves some happiness for once."

Jeff pulled him closer. "I'm sorry, babe."

Nick snorted. "Don't you start with the apologies!"

Wes and Jeff both cracked a smile. "You started it!" they exclaimed together.

"It just… It all…"

"Sucks?" Wes offered.

"Well… yeah." He sighed. "It just… no one ever catches a break. I mean… I just…"

Wes took his hand, sitting back down in his earlier perch. "How long have you been sick for?"

Nick shook his head, gave a mirthless laugh. "I don't know. Too long."

"And how long have you kept everything to yourself?"

"About the same amount of time?"

Jeff nuzzled into him as his words started almost exploding out.

"It's not fair. Not me. I don't care. Everyone gets sick and God knows, we're… us. And, yeah, sure, I feel like absolute shit but, I mean, it passes. It always does. But I'm making you all look after me, and just once when my family gets to go away and take… They just can't get a fucking break. Because when Clara gets something good in her life, when my parents get to take that tiny time away, something else has to happen and just… they don't get a break. Ever. Something always has to spoil it. And it's just not fair!"

"Life isn't fair," Wes said quietly, his eyes… refusing to look at the bed. "But… there's always a reason for it."

"What? So I can run my parents into the ground?" Nick spat. "So I can give them one more reason to hate the life they were given? Or waste even more money?"

Jeff tried to kiss his temple, but he pushed him back.

"Hon, don't. My family… my story… it doesn't end well. Get out while you can. Both of you."

There was a sharp intake of breath from both other members in the room – Nick could even feel Jeff's chest moving in shock – and he knew he'd gone a little too far. "Nick… You're not honestly trying to break up with me in the ER, are you?"

"No. No." Nick shook his head furiously, ignoring the feeling that his head had turned into a washing machine and all its fluids were splashing and spinning around. "No, I'm not. I – "

"Feel like melting crap," Wes cut in before he could apologise. "It's okay. I'm glad you got it out."

"Jeff, I'm – "

"My very sick boyfriend. Who is ridiculously stressed. And should probably be asleep."

"I don't deserve you. Either of you."

"And I love you too," Jeff said, pinching Nick's chin to keep his mouth shut. He raised a warm hand to brush over his cheek as he slowly turned his head inwards, to face him. Then slowly, carefully, he pushed himself forwards, his breath ghosting over every inch of skin on Nick's clammy face, shooting fire and ice and crackles of electricity as he pulled him in for a soft kiss.

And he remembered. The only other thing he could be certain of in this godforsaken place… That he had Jeff.

He slipped himself back down, body molding itself against Jeff's like coffee molds to dry sand. Even amongst all the uncertainty, the floating, he had his Aussie to anchor him in reality.

But, of course… the hospital had other plans for him, and in came the nurse – with Pedy directly behind. They didn't even bat an eye at the two boys in the bed, just dropped down on a stool next to him.

"Bloods are back!" The nurse announced with a rather grating sort of cheer, setting his clipboard down at the edge of the bed and taking away the bag resting in Nick's lap. "Before we can tell you anything though, there's a few questions I have to ask. Is that alright?"

Nick nodded.

"Are you vegetarian? I understand you're at boarding school – unless there are any peculiar eating habits I should be aware of…"

Wes rolled his eyes. "He eats. Everything."

"Nick?" The nurse looked at him. "You eat all your meat and veg?"

He nodded. "I… don't always eat much, but I have enough. Especially meat and vegetables."

"Okay. Okay…" The nurse paused. "That'll help the docs. Your iron is… very low. And there's a couple of other vitamin deficiencies we picked up on. But if you eat normally, they'll start looking at more intestinal things I suppose… and the doctors will have more questions about that later."

Nick nodded again and yawned. More questions. And the one tiny answer they'd gotten just opened up a whole lot more doors… Just once, he wanted to close the door, lock it with a key, and turn around and never look back and wonder how the room evolved without him.

His yawn didn't escape the nurse though. "How's your stomach feeling?"

Nick shrugged. It had settled for the time being – he wasn't at the dry-retching stage – but there was no way he wanted to go near anything like food for a _long_ time.

"I think due to the dehydration and your blood pressure… and the fact you aren't tolerating anything… we can get you some Maxalon. It'll stop you vomiting, but it'll probably put you to sleep. Is that alright?"

"Anything to make him feel better," Jeff said, voice vibrating right into Nick's own chest, and Nick nodded in agreement. "Please."

"Lucky I came prepared then." The nurse took out a syringe, pushing it straight into Nick's IV port. "Rest up, and we'll let you know if we discover anything else." Then he turned and walked out, Pedy trailing like a puppy that's just found its mother.

Almost immediately, Nick's body started to feel warm, his limbs turning to lead while his head floated up to the ceiling. The last he could remember was the disembodied voice of Jeff singing, "_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders…_"

* * *

**Howdy!**

**So, my profuse apologies for how long this has taken to be updated! I went straight from uni and exams to working an average of 5-6 days a week... and then I went up to Sydney. I've been writing tiny snippets of this where possible, but it's been really difficult to just sit down and get this out... I'm not entirely happy with htis, but I needed to get the update up, and we can keep moving on!**

**So thank you all so much for your patience in baring with me. It really means the world to me that anyone would read this! Thanks especially to Emserai, whitecollar18, AlicexWonderland, perfectlyODD, chelseainexile, Sarah, Eraman and Pen Magic! The reviews are so helpful - you guys remind me to keep writing, keep slogging away at something, and I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate them all!**

**So I have to rush off - I'm ticking away at my bucket list tonight, by seeing Sarah Blasko at the Sydney Opera HOuse! So verrrrry exciting - but I do need to go!**

**Like it? Hate it? Want me to fall off the Harbour Bridge? Please let me know!**

**Keep smiling! :D**


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